This girl still resembled her. The pale, luminous skin now shimmered faintly with runic light whenever the sun kissed it, the blue eyes that had once danced with mischief, the hair as pale as a winter morning.
Physically, she was almost the same.
But it was the spirit behind those eyes that had changed beyond recognition.
Wren Wynter had once been a flame, vibrant, full oflaughter and reckless compassion, forever skipping forward, forever speaking, forever laughing.
She had dreamt of a world better than the one she had been born into, and had chased it with fearless hope.
This girl, this new soul, observed the world with measured calm. She moved with the discipline of a warrior, spoke sparingly, and carried a serenity that Wren had never possessed.
Freya looked away.
‘What do you want, Alma?’ she asked, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.
‘I think you should stay away from her,’ Alma said, folding her hands neatly into the wide sleeves of her robe.
Freya snapped her attention towards the valkyrian, studying her.
Alma was striking with golden eyes that gleamed like molten metal and the darkest skin Freya had ever seen, her scalp entirely shaved, giving her an austere beauty that demanded respect.
‘Why?’ Freya asked, suspicion sharpening her tone.
‘Because it will be hard on you,’ Alma replied simply.
‘Someone must train her,’ Freya said, defiant.
‘And there are plenty of valkyrians who would gladly take on the task,’ Alma countered, resuming her graceful stride.
Freya followed, though reluctance weighed down her steps.
‘You are too close to the girl, Freya. It is not wise. Proximity clouds judgement. You may make a mistake.’
Freya snorted. ‘I do not make mistakes.’
‘And there,’ Alma said, her golden eyes narrowing, ‘speaks the arrogance of the god within you.’ Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air. ‘But let me remind you. You asked to keep your true nature hidden from the other valkyrians. None among them knows you are divine. I have honoured that.’
‘And I am grateful, Alma,’ Freya said, her voice softening, though the pride within her remained unbent.
Alma halted, turning to face her fully, her gaze laden with something close to pity.
‘But I must also remind you, Freya, that by choosing secrecy, you chose, too, to become one of us. Valkyrian. Bound to the kingdoms’ needs above your own.’
‘Have I not upheld that vow?’ Freya challenged.
‘You came to us, to the Council, many years ago,’ Alma continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘pleading for sanctuary from the grasp of Hades. The Council granted it. We have guarded your secret faithfully. But I know, Freya, that gods often believe themselves above those they walk among.’
Freya smothered the bitter smile that tried to rise to her lips. ‘Do you not worship them?’
‘We do,’ Alma admitted. ‘But we are valkyrians first, protectors above all else.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘Protectors of every soul. Even from the likes of your kind.’
‘I only want to help her,’ Freya said, the words leaving her more brittle than she intended.
Alma held her gaze, searching her with a ferocity so sharp that Freya wondered, fleetingly, whether the valkyrian could see straight through her.
‘I do hope that is the truth,’ Alma said at last, her voice heavy with warning. ‘But I have been known to be wrong before.’ With that, she turned and disappeared into the gardens, her steps swift and sure.
Freya’s eyes strayed unwillingly back to Wren, or the girl who had once been Wren, still seated on the grass, listening to the other valkyrians with serene attention, clad in white robes that gleamed beneath the sun.
